


Of Archers, Agents, and American Heroes

by celtic7irish



Series: An Assembly of Avengers [4]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Bucky and Steve friendship, Established Relationship, M/M, spoilers for Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-09
Updated: 2014-06-09
Packaged: 2018-02-04 00:55:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1761179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celtic7irish/pseuds/celtic7irish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint makes a decision, Steve's been mislead, Natasha is good like that, and Sam's just there to observe.  So is Bucky.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Archers, Agents, and American Heroes

** OF ARCHERS, AGENTS, AND AMERICAN HEROES **

****

Clint stood outside the three-story building, his hand raised to knock, frozen there like it had been for the past three and a half minutes. He knew, logically, that standing out here like an idiot just made him appear suspicious – which he kind of was, anyhow – but that didn’t make any difference. He wasn’t sure what he was doing here, to be honest. He felt like he was floundering, and there was nothing to anchor him. Natasha was accompanying Stark to some convention or other, acting as his Personal Assistant for the duration, but she had extracted a promise from Clint that he’d come here today, to let the new Director of SHIELD know what they had decided in regards to working for the agency again.

 

He could just picture Nat’s scathing glare. She’d probably be fingering one of her knives in a not-so-subtle threat, one eyebrow raised as she waited for him to just suck it up and pull himself together. But Clint wasn’t so sure that ‘pulled together’ had described him in any way since Loki’s manipulation and Coulson’s death. Cognitive recalibration couldn’t cure his own self-loathing, after all.

 

Being a part of the Avengers had helped enormously. Tony was an awesome benefactor, and had a wicked sense of humor that worked well with Clint’s own immaturity. Natasha had always had his back, and being part of the Avengers hadn’t changed that. Steve was not only their leader, but also their den mother, as Tony had dubbed him, keeping an eye on those under his supervision. Thor was just a fun, easy-going guy, and had never once made Clint feel unwelcomed or guilty for his part in Loki’s attempted takeover. In fact, he was remarkably tactful about bringing up his evil-minded brother at all.

 

The only member of their team that Clint couldn’t really figure out was Bruce. He always seemed so mild and unassuming, but the Hulk was a creature born of rage, right? In the months since the Battle of New York, Clint had started to pick up on things, little details that hadn’t been in the man’s file – or at least not in the edited version of the file he’d gotten to see. And really, that was just as well, since Loki had attempted to learn the weaknesses of the others from his thrall.

 

Bruce didn’t really like to be touched, and was always tense when there were raised voices. Most notably, when those raised voices came from people in positions of authority, like Nick Fury or Captain America. And yet, Tony had been able to get under his defenses almost immediately. Natasha had told Clint about the electric prod incident, and when Clint had wondered out loud how Tony had managed to not get smashed by Hulk, Natasha had just shrugged and pointed out that Tony’s unequivocal acceptance of both the scientist and his alter ego had somehow overcome all of Bruce’s defenses in one fell swoop.

 

Clint didn’t understand, and he suspected that Natasha didn’t really get it either, but he had let it drop, and just taken to observing the mild-mannered scientist. What he had seen hadn’t boded well for Bruce’s past, and Clint had started to wonder if they maybe actually had something more in common than he would have thought. Still, it wasn’t anything he’d want to have in common with anybody, much less somebody as gentle and kind as Bruce Banner, so he had never asked – or even hinted – and Bruce had done the same in regards to Clint, because the archer knew that there was no way he had missed the way that Clint made himself smaller around angry people, or flinched from an unexpected touch or loud noise, or hated doctors with a passion.

 

Clint realized that he was stalling, but he really, really didn’t want to knock on that door, didn’t want to see the man on the other side of it, even as his heart ached with a desperate yearning to know he wasn’t just imagining it, and that Phil Coulson was really, truly alive and well. More importantly, he needed to know that Phil didn’t blame him, even if Clint blamed himself.

 

His decision was made for him when the door swung open and Clint found himself staring at the youngest member of the team. Skye, was it? Warm eyes looked up at him in amusement. “Are you just planning on hanging around all day? Or did you actually want to see the boss man?” she asked, her tone teasing.

 

Clint grinned, unable to help himself. “The boss man? Surely he doesn’t actually let you call him that,” he rejoined.

 

Skye shrugged. “He told me not to call him Phil, Agent Coulson is too boring, Director is too lofty, and AC really, really annoys him,” she said cheerfully. Clint could feel his smile widening.

 

“Ah, a girl after my own heart,” he mock-swooned. Then he grew serious, licking is lips before speaking again. “Is…he in? I mean, is he okay? Can he talk right now? Or I could come back later?” He knew he was stammering, but he couldn’t help it. He also knew that if he left now, there would be no coming back later.

 

Skye must’ve realized it, too, because she just rolled her eyes, reaching out and snagging the front of his t-shirt. “Yeah, he’s in. He’s been waiting for you, though I think he was expecting you to drop in from the roof or something,” she muttered.

 

“Vents aren’t wide enough,” Clint grunted back, wiping his sweating hands on his jeans. It was too late to back out now, but the idea was still tempting. He knew, at least in theory, that Phil didn’t blame him for what had happened. But he blamed himself, and that made it nearly impossible to accept forgiveness from the man he’d indirectly killed.

 

Skye just threw him a disbelieving stare, then shrugged and kept walking, apparently deciding it wasn’t worth asking about. Clint didn’t offer up any further information, either, following her through the mansion and up to the third floor. This mansion was actually one of Tony’s homes, here in Manhattan, and he had offered it up as a temporary base of operations for Coulson and his crew, since there was no assurance that any of the previous SHIELD bases were safe, except for the ones that were hidden inside the Toolbox that Coulson had inherited from Nick Fury.

 

“Here we are!” Skye said at last, stopping in front of an ornate wooden door that undoubtedly led to some kind of office. “The boss is just doing paperwork, so feel free to interrupt,” she grinned. Clint grimaced; interrupted Coulson when he was involved in paperwork was very rarely a good idea, but at least he had an excuse this time. He had come to give Coulson his answer regarding the invitation for him and Natasha to rejoin the newly reconstructed SHIELD under Coulson’s purview.

 

Skye left, and the hallway echoed silently back at him. Clint swallowed, unsure, raising his hand to knock, and then hesitating. Again. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, clenching his jaw as they opened again, his hand pulling back so he could knock.

 

Before he could connect with the wood, the door swung open, and Clint jerked backwards, stumbling back against the far wall as he stared wide-eyed at Coulson, who stared at him bemusedly. “Clint?” Phil asked, and just like that, all the strength and determination Clint had managed to scrape together disappeared, and he swallowed hard, his knees weak as he slipped to the floor.

 

Instantly, Phil was at his side, his hands steady and warm as they checked him over. “Clint? Barton? Are you all right? What’s wrong?” he asked, his eyes dark with worry. Clint just shook his head, his eyes dropping to stare at his upraised knees so he didn’t have to look at Phil. Seeming to realize that there was nothing physically wrong with him, Phil eased back with a normal sigh. “Could you at least come into the office so we can talk?” he asked.

 

Clint hesitated for a moment before finally giving a small, meek nod and pushing himself to his feet. He followed Phil into the room and sat in the chair that the other man indicated. Rather than seating himself behind the large mahogany desk – another Stark luxury, no doubt – Phil simply leaned against it, his hips pressing against the edge of the desk as he studied Clint, who was staring blankly at his hands, his reasons for coming here forgotten under the scrutiny.

 

“I thought we had discussed this already, but perhaps not,” Phil said at last, startling Clint, who flinched before glancing up at the other man, who was regarding him steadily. “Are you angry with me?” Phil asked. “For not getting you out? Or perhaps for not staying dead?”

 

Clint had opened his mouth to protest, but he shut it again with a sharp snap, staring at Phil like a cornered animal, his heart in his throat. Something in the other man’s words had struck a chord deep within him, and Clint realized that there was a part of him that resented Phil Coulson coming back to life. He had been dead, and Clint had mourned, had tried to let him go and get on with his life, separated himself from SHIELD and thrown his lot in with the Avengers. And now, Coulson was alive, and Clint was left torn between his loyalty to his new team, and his loyalty to SHIELD, to Team Delta, to _Phil Coulson_.

 

“I mourned for you,” Clint said at last, forcing the words past his lips, even as the guilt tore him up from the inside. “I grieved, I ranted and raved and cried. I went through the psyche exams, and I joined the Avengers. I _let you go_ ,” he howled, the anger and guilt and pain raging through him as he struggled to hide them away again.

 

Clint released something that sounded that sounded suspiciously like a sob as he continued, roughly wiping away the tears. “I left SHIELD. I couldn’t stand to be there, with the blood on my hands, the resentment of the survivors, of those who had lost their friends in the attack, who had died because of me, because of _Loki_ ,” he spat, well aware that at least part of the blame lay with the psychopathic god who had tried to take over the Earth. “And then SHIELD fell, too deeply infiltrated by HYDRA to survive, and I thought it was over, that there was no going back. And then you came,” he muttered, not bothering to hide the resentment and bitterness in his tone. Under it all was a thread of exhaustion and terror and sorrow. He didn’t know what he was doing anymore, what he was trying to say.

 

“You came, with your new team, and told us that you were the new Director of SHIELD, that the organization was being rebuilt from the ground up. Just like that, like nothing had ever happened, like it was just a damn promotion,” he said, resigned laughter bubbling in his throat. “How is this my life?” he asked, his eyes rising to the ceiling, as if it would answer him, would solve all his problems.

 

Coulson, who had simply listened until this point, moved now, pushing away from the desk and moving over to stand in front of Clint. Before the archer could say anything, Coulson dropped down to his knees, one hand on Clint’s leg as he stared up at the baffled man. “Phil? What - ?” Clint spluttered, not understanding.

 

“I’m sorry, Clint,” Phil said. “The process used to bring me back was not one that I wanted. In fact, I had recommended that it never be used,” he admitted. “It was intended only to revive an Avenger, should that become necessary.” He licked his lips, and Clint realized that Phil was revealing information that was no doubt above Clint’s clearance level.

 

He released a raw chuckle. “Then I suppose it was used for its intended purpose, was it not?” he asked wryly, his hand reaching out and pausing for a moment before completing the gesture and resting on Phil’s cheek.

 

Warm blue eyes gazed up at him. “Fury said very much the same thing,” Phil admitted with a self-deprecating smile.

 

“That just shows that he’s smart enough to know your worth,” Clint murmured back. Phil turned his head, pressing a small kiss to Clint’s palm. The gesture, as small as it was, gave Clint the courage to say what he had originally come here to say. “Nat and I…we’re Avengers, sir,” he said quietly. He didn’t say anything else. He didn’t need to.

 

Phil smiled up at him. “I was hoping you’d say that,” he rejoined, clearly pleased with Clint’s refusal. The archer blinked at him, confused. “As much as I would have loved to have you and Natasha back where I could keep an eye on you, the two of you do more good where you are now,” he continued. “Besides, Natasha’s cover was compromised quite thoroughly, I believe,” he pointed out serenely.

 

Clint grinned back, tension easing out of him, though it didn’t dissipate. Not completely. “With all due respect, sir,” he teased, “I think everybody’s secret identities are beyond compromised at this point. Thor and Stark are the only ones who really had nothing to lose.” The dump had nearly done irreparable damage, but Tony had started working on it as soon as JARVIS had alerted him to the breach. While Tony had been forced to let some of the leaked information remain in the hands of the public to avoid suspicion, he had managed to retract some of the most damning evidence, such as the Hulk’s human identity, and some of the more controversial missions that Clint and Natasha had been on prior to the Avengers Initiative.

 

“Ah, yes. I remember that particular interview,” Phil said, obviously referring to the one where Tony Stark had come out to the entire world as Iron Man. “Of course, that was hardly the worst interview he ever gave.” Clint grinned at that. Of all of them, only Tony had been stupid enough to give the bad guys his home address and then expect nothing to come of it. He was so lucky he hadn’t lost his life, or Pepper, after that fiasco.

 

A sharp knock on the door interrupted whatever Clint had been about to say, and Phil patted the archer’s knee before standing and calling out to whoever was waiting. “Come in,” he called.

 

The door swung open, and Melinda May stepped in, her expression as blank and indifferent as always. Clint wondered idly if she had a better poker face than Natasha.

 

“We’re ready to move out, Director,” Agent May stated, completely ignoring the fact that Clint was even in the room.

 

Phil nodded. “Thank you, Agent May,” he said, and there was something darker in his tone, something almost like guilt. Clint didn’t allow himself to wonder about it, too concerned with his own emotions to be worrying about what was going on between the two people in front of him. “We’ll head out within the hour. Please let the others know.”

 

The agent gave Coulson a sharp nod, then turned and strode away. Clint stared after her, holding his tongue until after she had left. “So…that’s the Cavalry, huh?” he mused. “I’ve heard the stories.”

 

Phil shrugged. “As exaggerated as Budapest,” he rejoined. “But she’s a force to be reckoned with. I’m glad she’s on our side,” he admitted a moment later. Clint nodded; he understood. If him and Natasha couldn’t be there to watch Phil’s back, at least he had a strong, capable agent like Melinda May. It wasn’t the same, and it wouldn’t stop Clint from worrying, but Phil had been out there for months with little more than the Cavalry, a traitor, and a handful of children for backup. Clint would just have to trust that Phil would come back alive. He swallowed painfully.

 

Then Phil’s arms were wrapping around him, and Clint allowed himself to bury his face against the other man’s stomach for just a moment, his face pressed into the smooth linen of Phil’s ever-present suit. “There’s one more reason I’m glad you’ve chosen to remain an Avenger,” Phil murmured. Clint peered up at him doubtfully, and Phil smiled. “I’m the Director of SHIELD now. I was afraid that I’d have to put you and Natasha under another handler. And I don’t trust anyone besides myself right now to have your backs,” he admitted with a grimace.

 

Clint sighed, his eyes dropping again. Of course. Fingers pressed gently under his chin, forcing his head back up, and Clint looked up at his handler warily. Phil just smiled at him, gently. “Additionally, this is no longer something covert,” he murmured, just before he leaned down and pressed his lips against Clint’s downturned mouth.

 

With a desperate groan, Clint stood up abruptly, pressing hard into Phil as his arms wrapped around the other man tightly. He allowed himself to get lost in the kiss, to transfer all of his aggression and guilt and sorrow and joy into the clash of lips and tongue and teeth, his hands curling, fingers digging into shoulders before fisting handfuls of cloth. Phil’s suit would be rumpled after this, but he didn’t care.

 

Clint wasn’t stupid. He knew that if he moved his hands from where they were bunched up in the fabric at Phil’s back, there would be no way he’d be willing to let the man go to wherever his next mission was going to take him. So with a final shudder, he pulled back, dropping his forehead to rest against Phil’s, his eyes closing as he tried to catch his breath. Phil, for his part, looked as unruffled as ever, his breathing only slightly less even than normal, his lips bruised from the desperate pressure of their kiss.

 

“So…I get to tell the others?” Clint asked at last, his lips twitching upwards. Natasha already knew, of course, and he suspected that Stark was suspicious, if nothing else. The inventor was sharper than most people gave him credit for, despite knowing that he was actually, in fact, a genius. He just wasn’t good at interacting with people, so it made him seem ignorant and callous. Very few people really cared to look past the outward glamour to the man underneath, but Clint had been hanging around the other man for months, and knew that Tony hid a virtual heart of gold under all of his bluster and showiness.

 

Phil raised an eyebrow. “I had assumed you already had,” he admitted. Clint shook his head wordlessly; he would never out Phil to the team without good reason, especially not when he had thought the other man was gone for good, dead because of him, at the end of Loki’s spear.

 

Warm fingers rubbed his shoulders and down his bare arms, a physical reminder that Phil was here, in front of him, and was still worried about him. “You can tell the others whatever you’d like,” he conceded. “Though I’d suggest trying a bit of tact around some of them,” he added dryly.

 

Clint grinned. “Whatever for?” he asked. “Tony’s with Bruce, and I’m pretty sure Steve’s going to wind up with the Winter Soldier. Natasha already knows, and I’m positive Thor won’t care, given some of the stories I’ve heard about the Asgardian concepts of Shield Brothers and victory celebrations.” Some of those stories had made even _Tony_ blush, and Clint had honestly thought the other man didn’t know the meaning of the word embarrassment, considering some of the YouTube videos floating about on the internet.

 

Phil just blinked, then tipped his head to the side. “Huh,” he said, and Clint’s grin widened. Apparently Coulson hadn’t been quite as observant as he’d thought. “That would explain Stark’s comfort level with the Hulk,” Phil observed, and Clint couldn’t help the laughter that tore out of him. He had heard from a disgruntled Tony how Coulson and his merry band of misfits had blown open the doors to his newly renovated Hulk Bunker. Apparently, the gigantic warehouse had once been used to mass-produce various SHIELD-based weaponry, and then later to store Hulkbuster units that had been salvaged or outright removed from the United States armed forces. That had, of course, been the reason Stark had bought the place out in the first place, though he hadn’t realized that it was SHIELD owned at the time.

 

“Actually, I think that’s just Tony,” he said with a wry grin. He was tempted to lean in and kiss Coulson again, but he hesitated for a moment before deciding that he didn’t care. He didn’t know how long the other man might be gone this time, trying to get SHIELD up and running again, and still chasing after rogue HYDRA agents.

 

Phil allowed him a brief moment of contact before pulling back. “If I don’t get going, we’ll have five worried agents in here, Barton,” he said. There was a brief pause, and then Phil’s hand curved around the back of Clint’s neck, pulling him forward until their foreheads press together. “Stay safe,” he ordered softly.

 

Clint smiled. “Sure thing, Coulson. You, too. You’ve filled your death quota, so you can’t die again, all right?”

 

Phil smiled wryly. “I don’t think my memory could take it,” he admitted ruefully. Clint frowned, confused, but Phil didn’t elaborate, pulling away. As he walked out the door, he threw over his shoulder, “And tell Natasha that she owes me some money.” With that, he sauntered out the door, leaving a speechless Clint behind.

 

“Money? Whatever for?” he blustered, hurtling out the door to chase after the other man, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. But Phil wasn’t in the hallway, and a minute later, Clint heard the loud rumble that indicated the Bus was leaving. Moving to the end of the hallway, he watched as the large plane took off, carrying Phil and his new team with it.

 

Clint wasn’t sure how long he stood there, in the empty mansion, but at last he shook himself and turned around, leaving the place behind. “JARVIS?” he queried, not sure if the AI was in this building or not, but figuring that if he wasn’t, then no harm done, right?

_“Yes, Agent Barton?”_ JARVIS replied politely. _“How may I be of assistance?”_

“How is he? Really?” he asked softly, not needing to elaborate on who he was talking about.

 

 _“Director Coulson’s data has proved inconclusive,”_ JARVIS responded immediately _. “However, physically, he appears to be in better health than before his unfortunate demise.”_ The AI sounded almost regretful, if he could regret the death of a human being _. “He appeared to be mostly concerned about your own well-being, Agent,”_ he added.

 

Clint smiled grimly; of course Coulson had been more worried about him. It was how the other man operated, thinking little of himself, devoting himself to doing everything he could to protect his assets. But then again, Clint wasn’t technically an asset anymore, was he? So what did that make him? Certainly not an equal.

 

Now that Coulson’s steadying presence was gone, Clint felt the doubt creeping back in, forming a stranglehold around his thoughts, forcing them into a repeating loop of insecurity and self-recrimination. As part of Strike Team Delta, Clint had been worth something, had proven his mettle. With Natasha by his side and Coulson at their back, they had been practically unstoppable, having the highest count of successfully completed missions in SHIELD history. They were the ones who were sent in when there was no one else, and they did what nobody else could do.

 

But now, as an Avenger, he was just a human on a team of super-humans. Captain America was a super soldier. Thor was a god. Bruce Banner turned into an unstoppable machine of destruction. Even Tony had superior technology that was so far advanced most countries couldn’t even dream of replicating it. That left him and Natasha, and his partner had been brought up by the KGB. She was a super-assassin, and in a fight, there was no way Clint would win. He just shot pointy things at the enemy from a distance. He wasn’t much use in hand-to-hand combat, though he could hold his own. Barely.

 

“JARVIS, go ahead and lock it down,” Clint said as he slipped out the front door, closing it behind him. His only response was a series of clicks and whirs as the mansion’s security was activated. Clint didn’t look back, loping down the sidewalk and out the gate, idly wondering if he’d do better to call a taxi or have Stark send a driver.

 

He needn’t have bothered. The moment he walked through the gates, Clint caught sight of blond hair and blue eyes, and a comfortably worn leather jacket. “Came to pick me up, Cap?” he teased, forcing his tone to come out cheerful. Steve just watched him in concern, and Clint felt his smile soften into something more honest. “You didn’t have to do that, really,” he said, clambering on the motorcycle behind the super soldier and accepting the helmet Steve handed him, noting that it was an extra, which was actually comforting. He would’ve probably been more upset if Steve had offered him his helmet, forgoing his own safety out of a feeling of protectiveness and obligation.

 

Steve’s back was broad, and warm, and the rumble of the bike underneath him was soothing as Steve navigated expertly through the streets of New York, occasionally taking a side street to avoid the worst of the traffic. Even after the sun went down, the city never really slept. Clint closed his eyes against the lights of the surrounding cars and buildings, watching colors flash behind his eyelids as he held on to Steve, his arms wrapped around the other man’s waist, clasped together just below his sternum.

 

He didn’t open his eyes again until the bike slowed. Looking around, he realized that they weren’t exactly in Manhattan anymore. Pulling off his helmet as they pulled into a garage, Clint wandered towards the exit and looked out, trying to place their current position. He realized that they were in Brooklyn, but he wasn’t quite sure where. Giving up, he looked curiously back at Steve. “Okay, I give. Where are we?” he asked.

 

The other man grinned boyishly at him. “Brooklyn,” he said unsurprisingly, but Clint heard what he hadn’t said. _Home_. Captain America had brought him to the place he had grown up in. Clint resisted the urge to whistle in appreciation.

 

As he followed Steve around the corner and onto a larger street, he caught sight of the figure standing under a lamppost, holding onto Captain America’s shield. He raised an eyebrow. “Wait, is there a party or something? Did I miss the memo?” he asked jokingly, his curiosity getting the better of him, chasing away his glum mood from earlier.

 

Steve chuckled, shaking his head. “No, if it was a party I wanted, I would’ve made sure to invite Stark,” he pointed out pragmatically. “This is just a small get-together with a few of our friends.” He readily accepted the shield when Bucky held it out to him, and nodded towards the door with his head. “Welcome to my place,” he said. “It’s not nearly as impressive as a floor in the Tower, I’m afraid.”

 

Clint just shook his head, the dimly lit hallways stirring up memories of his own apartment in Bedford-Stuyvesant. The apartment had been compromised when HYDRA had attempted to take down SHIELD, and Clint wondered that Steve still kept an apartment here. Perhaps it was a different one than he’d lived in before the whole fiasco?

 

Steve led him up to the second floor and opened the door at the end of the hallway. Clint followed him, the Winter Soldier bringing up the rear. Surprisingly, this didn’t bother Clint nearly as much as he had thought it would. Perhaps it was because Steve trusted the dark haired man that had been – and probably still was – his best friend. Or maybe it was just because they shared a silent sort of camaraderie, one built upon knowing what it felt like to be controlled by others, to be undone and completely remade. Neither man would speak of their experiences, but at the same time, they each recognized something in the other that stirred up memories they’d rather forget. It was a strange bonding experience, and one they never spoke of out loud.

 

The moment he stepped inside the door, he found himself with an armful of redhead. Instinctively, his arms wrapped around his partner, pulling her to him, tight against his chest. “Hey, Nat,” he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss into her hair, shuffling them awkwardly to the side of the door so Bucky could come in behind them and shut the door.

 

Looking up, Clint caught sight of Sam Wilson, who smiled at him, friendly and non-threatening. Clint knew about his volunteer work, that he worked within the VFW, helped soldiers returning from tours of duty to find some semblance of normalcy, helped them to understand that they weren’t alone in their fears. He wondered now if Sam wasn’t doing the same for both Steve and Bucky, each of who had their own problems relating to war and being stranded out of time.

 

Clint resisted the urge to smile back at Sam, choosing instead to raise an eyebrow. “What is this? An intervention?” he drawled, letting his amusement color his voice.

 

Sam snorted. “Right. Because an intervention is exactly what you need. I’ve heard that even the SHIELD psychologists don’t want to mess with you,” he retorted. Clint shrugged, conceding the point. He was moody, stubborn, and silent. And when he wasn’t completely ignoring their attempts to get him to talk, he was talking circles around them instead. Most of them passed him as quickly as possible so they didn’t have to deal with him any longer than necessary. Clint knew what words to say to pass, what emotions to portray, when to fake confusion or anger or remorse. The shrinks didn’t stand a chance against him, and they knew it.

 

“All right. Fine. So not an intervention,” he grumbled good-naturedly. “So what is this, then?” He allowed Natasha to pull him down onto a couch with her, settling easily between her legs, his back pressed against her front as her chin rested in the crook of his shoulder, her presence a comforting weight against his back.

 

“What? We can’t just hang out with you because we want to?” Natasha teased him back, her voice light as she hid a smile against his neck. Clint just rolled his eyes, not falling for the blatant lie. The redhead shrugged. “We just wanted to make sure you were okay, and to give you somewhere safe for a little while,” she admitted softly. “Without Tony Stark’s special brand of concern,” she added, almost as an afterthought. This time, Clint did laugh. Tony’s idea of getting over heartache was to drink oneself to oblivion or to find a willing body – or several – for a night, neither of which appealed to Clint right now.

 

“So instead, I get to hang out with an assassin, a super soldier, a super soldier assassin, and a fellow bird,” Clint smirked. Bucky’s expression didn’t change, but both Steve and Sam smiled indulgently at him. Natasha’s hand was rubbing soothingly at his hip, and Clint found himself relaxing further, allowing her to take his weight, which she did easily.

 

Steve disappeared, and Clint could hear him busying himself in the kitchen. The Winter Soldier was gone as well, presumably to keep an eye on Steve. Whenever the two of them were together, they were practically inseparable. Clint couldn’t blame them; if he had the choice, he’d never let Natasha or Phil out of his sight, either.

 

Sam sat easily, bonelessly, in a chair sitting against the wall, just watching the two of them quietly. Clint had grown used to the man’s silent observations. He watched the Avengers in the same way that Clint did, from a distance. It made him more perceptive, which in turn made him more effective. He was an invaluable addition to the team as a whole, like a friend who just happened to be a therapist. Or vice versa.

 

“Did you two get to have a nice talk?” Natasha asked, her fingers still pressed against his hips, supportive without being restrictive. Neither of them would ever presume to hold the other one down, not without express permission.

 

Clint shrugged. “I’m not sure talk is the word I’d use,” he replied wryly, half-amused. More like hurried confessions and frantic apologies and desperate goodbyes, he mused.

 

Natasha’s hands moved, one sliding just under the hem of his shirt, rubbing gently at the warm skin there. Her lips pressed a gentle kiss against Clint’s neck, and her other hand moved up to brush along his short, spiked hair. Clint gave a low mumble of approval and tilted his head back, his eyes sliding halfway closed. Natasha’s touches were designed to offer comfort, to offer the intimacy of a familiarity that very few people had with each other. Even with the other Avengers, Clint maintained a certain distance. Only Natasha was allowed close. Only she was allowed to curl up in bed with him, or to seek him out after a harsh mission, or to help him bathe and tend to his injuries after he’d been tortured. Well, her and Phil, at least.

 

There was a subtle tensing in the body behind him, and Clint opened his eyes with a quiet sigh, blinking over at Sam and Bucky, who were sharing a look between them. “What?” he asked grumpily, having been knocked out of the soothing half-sleep Natasha had gentled him into. With the extra awareness came the feelings of confusion and loss and guilt, and he suppressed a growl of irritation. God, he missed Phil.

 

Sam shook his head. “It’s nothing,” he said after a moment. Clint didn’t believe him.

 

To his surprise, it was Bucky who asked the direct question, just as Steve walked back into the room with a plate piled high with sandwiches. Steve gestured with his head, and Sam stood up to walk back into the kitchen, presumably to get drinks. “Are you and Black Widow lovers?” the dark-haired assassin asked bluntly.

 

Clint actually laughed, his body relaxing as he answered. “No, we’re not,” he said simply, unwilling to go into further details. Sometimes, after a particularly hard mission, one of them would seek out the other for some mutual comfort that occasionally involved sex, but it was just another form of comfort, a way to reaffirm that they were alive, that their partner was alive, that they were both okay and safe and _there_. Natasha didn’t really believe in love, but she believed in Clint, and in Phil. And sometimes, that was really all that mattered.

 

Steve apologized for his friend. “Ah, sorry about that,” he said, flicking a warning glare towards Bucky, who ignored it completely. “You have to admit, though, that the way you two act around each other sometimes gives off the impression that you’re…more than friends,” he said at last, looking uncertain, like he was wishing he hadn’t said anything at all.

 

Natasha tilted her head, shifting behind Clint. He knew what sort of appraising look she was giving the Captain; it had been directed towards him more times than he cared to admit. It was the look Natasha got when she was trying to figure things out, preparing for an interrogation. “Clint and I are Phil’s assets,” she said blankly, no inflection in her tone. “We have had each other’s back for years.” There was no need for them to know just how many years. “But we are not lovers, not in the way you would imply.” And, oh, if Tony had been there – or Bruce – the hidden meaning would have been dissected in an instant.

 

Steve nodded. “I know, and it’s none of our business anyway,” he admitted softly.

 

Clint grinned. “Just as long as we’re clear, Cap.” A sudden thought occurred to him, and he leaned forward, his smile widening at the open opportunity to tease the Captain. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bucky tense, but the other man made no moves to cut him off, so he asked his question. “How long have you thought that Nat and I were together?” he asked.

 

Steve blushed again, biting on his lower lip. “Umm…since before the Chitauri,” he admitted. “When you were taken by Loki and Black Widow went in to, ah, interrogate him.” Steve gave a wry smile at that, and Clint snickered.

 

“Yeah, she’s good at fooling people into doing and thinking what she wants them to,” he agreed easily, not the least bit offended. Captain America wasn’t the first person to be fooled into thinking that Clint and Natasha were lovers. Of course, how weird was it that out of all of them, it was Tony Fucking Stark that had figured out that Clint’s real interest was in Phil Coulson? Sure, the man was a genius, but his people skills generally sucked. So why had he been the only one who had realized what was going on?

 

Natasha hummed her agreement before sliding out from behind him and standing, leaving Clint to sprawl, laughing, back down against the couch. As he took the sandwich Natasha held out to him a moment later, he felt himself relaxing, his mood improving exponentially. Clint was alive, Phil was alive, his teammates were watching out for him, and Tony, of all people, would be watching out for Phil. Clint knew it with a deep surety, because Tony was a selfish person at heart, and he hated losing people more than anything. He’d throw his not-inconsiderable support behind Coulson, behind the fledgling SHIELD, and he’d do what he could to keep Coulson safe, so that he could come back to them. Come back to Clint.

 

Sweeping a grateful gaze over the people assembled in Steve’s living room, supporting him, Clint smiled genuinely, joining in the festivities. He and Phil still had some things to work out between them, but they’d gotten off to a good start. And with his team backing him – and Coulson’s team doing the same for him – they’d be safe enough until they could meet again. All in all, it certainly wasn’t the worst way to spend one’s evening.

 

Clint lifted his head and met Bucky’s eyes across the room, recognizing the look he was receiving. Bucky got it, he understood, his gaze breaking away to track Steve Rogers, who was off to the side talking with Sam and Natasha.

 

Grabbing a glass of soda, Clint lifted it in a mock toast, holding Bucky’s gaze. Bucky’s face remained expressionless, but he tilted his head slightly in clear understanding. He wouldn’t let Steve go, wouldn’t risk the other man dying on him before he got to say whatever he needed to say.

 

Clint tipped his head back and drank.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so....yeah, I sort of didn't look back over this much as I typed, so I really hope everything makes sense. Not entirely sure what's next. Hope you enjoyed reading!


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